I don’t often like photographs of myself. I am ok with the person I see in the mirror. She is a good person. And she is not heinous. But the camera does not love her and is not her friend. I’m ok with that, even if others aren’t.
But I there is something I like about this photograph of myself in front of the home in which my father was raised:
Even though it accentuates things I don’t particularly love about myself (the way my eyes disappear and my lips sort of flatline into almost nothing), I like this photo because it reminds me of a few traits–both external and internal–I inherited from my dad. From my dad’s side of the family. In this photo I see something of my grandmother and my aunts. A steely strength and resilience I admire in them and want to develop better in myself. These are the traits that help me get up out of bed even when fatigue, arthritis or the realities of what the day might hold are somewhat daunting. These are the traits that hold me up during hard times or when I get bad news or have to deal with something particularly hurtful. These are the traits that let me look people square in the eyes and tell them the truth even when I’m not sure they really want to hear it.
(Not pictured is the playful twinkle in the eyes. I hope I still have a little bit of that left in me. That twinkle that used to get me into trouble when friendly was misread as flirty.)
Enough about me. Please tell me about a trait–either physical or otherwise–you inherited and which you have come to appreciate.